Forgetting How to Breathe (Rewrite)
by eggthemeg
Summary: REWRITE OF AN OLD FIC. Gale-POV What if Gale had been chosen instead of Peeta? What if he and Katniss were entering The Hunger Games together? What if they fell in love in the arena? (Sorry, so bad at summaries!)
1. 1

1

They say, when you go into shock, you go completely numb. I've watched earlier tributes on the giant screen in the square, and they recount the situation with quiet disregard; that they don't really remember the second their name was called – as if the death wish had the same priority in their mind as what they'd had for breakfast a week ago. But there is always one common denominator. They always forget how to breathe.

They gasp for air, mouth opening and closing, like a fish out of water. Some even collapse. But my experience was completely different, the day my name was pulled out of that ball.  
>I felt as though I was being shot by one of Katniss' arrows, or mauled by a wolf. The pain was all over the surface of my body – like I was allergic to oxygen. But I didn't forget how to breathe.<br>I clenched my fists until I could feel my nails digging into the skin of my palm. My jaw locked, my teeth grinding, yet my hearing was crystal clear. So I heard my name. Crystal clear.  
>With a gentle nudge from someone standing behind me, I made my way up, stiffly, slowly, towards the stage, keeping my eyes locked on Effie Trinket's fake pink hair, as if I was hunting a squirrel – as ironic as it is. I always thought Effie Trinket looked a bit like a squirrel; if a squirrel wore rather ostentatious wigs.<p>

As I clambered onto the stage – skipping the steps and making Effie jump as I landed near her shoes which probably cost more than my house. She asked me questions. I made acknowledgeable grunts in return. When she finally got the message, she straightened her wig and crosses the podium to where the ball with the girls' names is set.

She dipped in her hand, rustling around through the scraps of paper, building up tension so one of the kids fainted in the middle of the square. Others didn't help him up or check to see if she was alright. It's every kid for themself now. I'm on my own.  
>The pink hair brute finally picks a piece of paper and smoothes the creases out of it and reads the name clearly.<p>

"Primrose Everdeen"

That's when I forget how to breathe.


	2. 2

2

Everything happens in slow motion.

Prim walks to towards the stage – her little fists clenched as she walks stiffly like me. Her outfit is too big for her. She looks so little in Katiniss' old clothes and when her eyes meet mine I'm forced to look away. We're looking at each other with the same bout of disbelief. She looks like a dear in headlights. She's just shocked as me.  
>I stand there, gasping for air, my mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Like all those other tributes who had died. A choke escapes my mouth, an alien gargling sound that I'm not used to.<br>Then suddenly, out of nowhere, she's running towards Prim, pushing her sister's body behind her protectively. I know what she's going to say, but I just stand there, frozen. I don't stop her.

"I volunteer." She rasps, gasping for air, "I volunteer as tribute!"

Murmurs ripple through the square. The Mayor and Effie, onstage, look at each other, confused. It's been years since the District as had a volunteer. We're not the type to raise Careers.

The ear piercing scream brings us back to our senses, as Prim wraps herself around Katniss. "No, Katniss! No! You can't go!"

Without taking her eyes off of me, she tries to shake Prim off. I see her eyes glaze over; tearing up as Katniss refuses to look her in the face. Suddenly Peacemakers are behind them, wrenching Prim away from her sister, as she sobs and moans – almost in pain.

She climbs the steps and quickly takes her place on the podium, next to the ball containing the girls' names. She glances over at me then looks down at the floor – the colour drained from her face. "Well bravo! That's the spirit of the games!" Effie Trinket says with strained enthusiasm. "And what's your name?"  
>"Katniss," She rasps, almost silently "Katniss Everdeen."<br>"I bet buttons that was your sister! Don't want to steal her glory, do we?"  
>I replant my feet on the podium. It takes a large amount of willpower to not run over to Katniss, kicking Effie off the podium as I do so – and holding her as tight as I could. She looked so helpless and scared, in her mother's blue dress. It was the first time I'd seen her like that – without power or strength, frozen solid as Effie asks her the obligatory questions about her background. She answers in a rough, shakey voice.<p>

Effie leads us both to the front of the stage, and demands a round of applause from the pale, drawn faces in the square. As we're led off the stage, I take Katniss' hand. Her palms were cold and clammy. I held on tightly nevertheless – more for my sake than hers.  
>But instead of applause there's a dead, cold silence. Her hand shifts in my grip as slowly, one by one, every member of District 12 raises their three middle fingers to their lips and points towards us. Approbation. Respect. Protest.<p>

The Mayor is silent, then clears his throat awkwardly and starts to recite the compulsory Treaty of Treason. Katniss and I look at each other from the side of the stage. Her jaw was locked now – as mine was. We tried to smile through our clenched teeth, but we both knew what would happen now. Inevitable, unjust and merciless death. We couldn't even pretend to be happy about it.

I squeeze her hand, and she squeezes it back twice, as the mayor concludes the Treaty and nods to indicate that we can shake hands. We don't move. He and Effie look down to see our fingers tightly intertwined. The mayor looked down in, what was it – shame? Sympathy?  
>Effie just gave a patronisingly sorrowful look, tilting her head to the left. It was the sort of expression shown when someone dies, and you have to pretend to care. The sort of expression of I despised. The sort of expression I wanted to wipe of her fluorescently painted little face.<p>

The anthem starts up, and we grip each other's hand so tightly that I lose feeling in my whole lower arm. We're ushered offstage as soon as the anthem ends by the same Peacemakers that prized Prim from Katniss. As we're led towards the Justice building, Effie and the mayor following closely behind, I look across at her again. She opens her mouth to say something, but then I'm pushed into a room.

I'm alone.


	3. 3

3  
>My hunting boots sink deeply into the thick carpet. What was she going to say? I wanted – needed, even – to know.<br>I sit, rigid, in the middle of the velvet couch in the middle of the room, running my hands over the surface nervously, back and forth. I look around the room, into the corners of the ceiling, as I feel the eyes of the Capitol boring into the back of my neck. This is what it was going to be like from now on, always being watched, our every move being monitored and manipulated.  
>As I steady my uneven breathe, the door opens and they burst in – my mother, Vick, Rory and Posy – looking just as out of place as I felt. I notice the tears streaming down my mother's face and the confusion in my siblings' faces. I clench my teeth and tense my muscles to stop myself from crying in front of them.<br>I open my arms and hold my mother – short and stout – comforting her as much as I can; stroking her dark hair. Posy is in her arms, Vick and Rory clinging onto each of my legs, sobbing more out of confusion than sorrow. We all this would be the last time we'd be together as a family. We all knew this trip was a death sentence, but none of us had the guts to say it.

Mum broke away, her eyes and nose swollen and red – her expression incomprehensibly sad. Before I could falsely reassure her, she touches my cheek and says softly "Just try. That's all I ask."  
>I want to say something in return, tell her what to do, how to survive with me gone, when I'm gone. But I don't. I just stand there, jaw clenched, stroking her hair and staring down into Posy's distraught face.<br>We stand like this, in our own little circle, before the Peacekeepers open the door and demand that my family leaves. Mum shifts Posy to the opposite arm to the one she was holding her, and instructs the boys to let go of my leg – I kneel down, give them both one last squeeze before they turn towards the door.  
>"Mum!" I yelp, my voice breaking as I stare at her, my vision swimming with tears, hands hanging limply by my sides like a scolded toddler. She looks over her shoulder with the most intense look of fear and sadness. But she keeps walking.<br>And then she's gone.

I felt below me for the soft velvet of the couch. I sink down into it, my head hanging forward to let the tears fall out of my eyes and onto my jacket. When the doors open again, I'm caught off guard, as I jerk my head up suddenly, wiping my tears away.

The second, and last, people to wish me farewell is Katniss' mother and Prim. I could instantly read the shock in their eyes. I walked across the room and embraced them both, my jaw locking again – to put on a brave front for her family, giving them hope.  
>Over the years they had become just as much a part of my life as my own family were. As much as we loved each other, I know what they wanted me to do. "Gale – "<br>"I'll do it." I interrupted  
>"What?"<br>"I'll keep Katniss alive," I said "I'll do whatever it takes."  
>Because I've never known any other way, I added silently<p> 


	4. 4

4  
>As I'm escorted out the room and through the back entrance of the Justice building, I see Katniss also surrounded by a squad of Peacekeepers. I glance at her through the gaps of their bodies. She's staring right back at me. I smile and mouth "Sup?" to her, and she smiles meekly.<br>We're both directed into a large, slick, black car, entering either one of the back doors. We flop down into the seats identically, exhaling heavily. There was a long pause as the car's engine started. I looked over at her and studied her face. Her eyes were puffy and cheeks were flushed – she'd been crying, like me  
>"Hard day, eh?" I said, straining for a cheerful tone.<br>I punched her playfully on the shoulder, making her roll her eyes and her mouth turn up at the corners. She looked back over at me, surprise crossing her face – she'd noticed my puffy eyes and my red, swollen nose. The first time she'd ever seen me remotely emotional, other than my father's funeral  
>"I'm sorry, Catnip" I say<br>"For what?"  
>"That you got picked"<br>"I guess the odds weren't really in our favour…" She tails off.  
>After a few seconds, a door opens and Effie ducks in beside us, so Katniss is in the middle. She nods in acknowledgement and starts to fiddle with her wig silently, elbowing Katniss in the shoulder.<br>When the engine dies and the doors open again, we're swamped by herds and herds of flashing cameras and shouting voices, asking anything and everything about us, the tributes.

We clamber out of the car and walk briskly through the throng of reporters. I held back – a foot to the left of Katniss to ensure no tabloid rumours started about her and me before we even got into the arena. We keep our heads up, we put on our best disinterested faces, we walk directly ahead and onto the Capitol train, led by Effie.

Once inside, we're immediately split up again – her taken to the right side of the train, me to the left side. I'm directed into a room bigger than my family's entire house. I'm told by a small, smiley man with green hair that this room will be mine for the journey to the Capitol. He makes a swift exit, closing the door firmly behind him.  
>I explore the chamber, with its king sized bed and endless numbers of drawers and wardrobes for belongings I didn't bring. Or didn't have in the first place. I enter an open doorway and discover that the room also has a private bathroom with a separate bathtub and shower, adjoining onto a walk in wardrobe filled with men's clothes.<br>The floor of the room is made with material finer than the mayor's finest suits. The whole sight disgusts me. Presenting me with luxury before the arena? As if it would make up for the fact that my imminent death was inevitable. My family were starving, when Prim and her mother were starving. It makes me sick.  
>I leave the rest of the ostentatious room and make my way into the hallway. I don't know which room exactly Katniss had been led into, but I followed the general direction. I hear a shower running behind one of the doors and open it slowly, knocking as I do so. "Katniss?" I say gently, "Catnip?"<br>I see the blue dress Katniss was wearing when she emerged from the crowd just a short while ago. I sit on the corner of the bed and pick it up from the floor, running the smooth fabric over my fingers, waiting for her to emerge from the shower. I scuff my shoes again the thick carpet and remember the day I first met her – how she breathed her name so softly that I mistook it for Catnip. I had laughed at her, and since then we'd put up with each other whilst hunting for our families. I still called her it now, although she'd changed in the years that I'd known her. She'd become harder, more sarcastic, yet still loyal to those she loved. I knew how to break her shell, to bring out that old, shy girl I'd first met. She had two sides and I loved her for that.

I look up from the dress, to see her silhouette walking towards me – dressed in a green shirt and dark trousers. The evening sunlight made her startled face look round and young, not weathered by the many hours of hunting we'd endured over the years. She tucked her damp hair behind her ear and walked towards me. Although there may not be anything romantic between up, I opened my arms and she fitted into them easily – her head on my chest.  
>Lifting her head and resting her chin on my collar bone, she opened her mouth to say something but instead her stomach growled in hunger. We both laugh under our breath and I loosen my grip on her shoulders.<br>"What's for dinner?" she says, looking around the room  
>I shrug and nod towards the door, indicating that we should go and explore. The journey to the Capitol shouldn't take long one of these high speed Capitol trains. Katniss opens the door and Effie is there, hand posed in a fist beside her shoulder as if she were about to knock. She looks surprised to see both of us in the same room – me, unshowered.<br>"Well, I hope we're all ready for supper!" she says, bouncing on her heels awkwardly.  
>We're led down a narrow corridor lit by mini chandeliers, chinking with the movement of the train, which opens out into a larger room with a large table in the centre of the room, polished panelled walls and large windows. There were several sets of polished cutlery either side and above the china plates, and two glasses. It's all completely alien to us both, as we look around, my two middle fingers on the small of her back.<br>The first course is served as soon as we sat down, and they coming. Soup and salad and meat and cheese; the mounds of food are endless. Katniss asks Effie politely which pieces of cutlery go with which course and she politely explains in reply. I just use the same knife and fork for all the courses and talk as little as possible, keeping my elbows off the table.  
>"At least you both have manners" Effie says to end an awkward silence "the pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages. It completely upset my digestion."<br>I scratch my knife against my plate loudly and clear my throat. Katniss suddenly drops her knife and fork, narrowing her eyes. Then she picks up the large slice of chocolate cake with her hands and takes a bite so big she can't fit it all in her mouth. I snort so hard I can feel chocolate sauce clog up my sinuses. We might as well make this experience fun. I start gnashing my jaws open and closed, smacking my lips after every bite. We finish the meal like this, as Effie's lips make a thin line across her powered face.  
>She asks if we'd like to watch the rest of the reapings. It's less of a question and more of a strong suggestion, so we follow her through a door directly opposite to Katniss' room. We work our way through the reapings of each district, but I don't take much interest. The ones who won't win will be dead, and I won't see the winner due to my being dead. So I don't particularly care.<br>I note some tributes that might make decent allies – a boy with a crippled foot from District 10, a small innocent looking girl from District 11 – all the ones that probably won't last long. I doubt I'll be sticking around in the arena.  
>The last District to be broadcast was ours – District 12. We see me walking up to the podium, mumbling and staring at my feet. Thankfully, you can't really see my face. The editors have made a big deal out of Katniss volunteering for Prim, somehow having zoomed in on her elbowing her way through the crowd. The commentators explain their relation to each other and coo over emotional the whole fiasco is. That's what they call it – a "fiasco," a "calamity."<br>"Looks like you're a star, Catnip." I say, glancing over at her. She rolls her eyes and kicks me in the shin.  
>"Catnip?" Effie says, innocently.<br>"It's a childhood nickname" Katniss replies "we've been best friends for a long time."  
>"Well, that's just delightful!" Effie smacks her palms together in glee. She is obviously forming a sob story around us already to buy us sponsors.<br>"Delightful" I mumble, getting up and muttering something about getting some rest after a large dinner. Katniss follows just as Haymitch Abernathy stumbles down the hall.

~

Katniss stands up from the armchair in the corner of her room, where she'd been sitting and picks up a gold, circular object from the chest of drawers beside her. She hands it to me. It's a golden broach that looks familiar – an object I'd seen but not noticed  
>"Madge gave it to me." She says quietly, turning and sitting on her bed, her back to me.<br>It glints red in the evening sunshine, as it lengths our shadows across the room. Within the outer circle of the broach is a bird. "A mockingjay?" I ask.  
>"From what I know."<br>A lump forms in my throat suddenly, as I remember a day a few years ago. Katniss probably can't even remember, yet I can still hear the soft melody as she sang to the mockingjay in the woods. The first day I ever heard her sing.  
>I make my way across the room and pin it to her chest, just over her heart.<br>"It'll be our emblem." I say to her, lying down on the bed, hands locked behind my head.  
>"You got a catchphrase to go with it too, Caesar Flickerman?" She replies, a smile flickering over her lips<br>"I'll let you know after I've getting waxed within an inch of my life by the stylists" I answer.  
>She laughs and lies down next to me, her hands underneath her cheek. "How far do you think we'll get? In the arena, I mean."<br>I sigh and stroke her upper arm. I don't answer, because I don't know. She nods and closes her eyes slowly. The red evening sunlight had become greyer as the sun started to disappear behind the flat landscape of Panem.


End file.
